


Boaz and Ruth

by LucyCrewe11 (Raphaela_Crowley)



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament)
Genre: Bible, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Love Story, retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphaela_Crowley/pseuds/LucyCrewe11
Summary: A look at the book of Ruth. A young widow goes with her elderly mother-in-law away from Moab to a new life and gleans in the fields of a man named Boaz, who she later discovers is one of their repurchasers. Told from Ruth's point of view.
Relationships: Ruth/Boaz
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2010

It was very hot that day. That, strangely enough, is one of the things I remember most about it. Well, also that it was very quiet. If I'd been a more imaginative person I might have fancied that everyone had forgotten how to talk. Really, though, it was more that there wasn't much left to say. I certainly didn't have a reason to speak. Not anymore.

Not bothering to adjust my brown-and-gray checkered cloth headdress as it slipped slowly towards the back of my head, I turned my attention to the wooden cage at the far side of the house. In it lived a little speckled turtledove with bright eyes, given to me by Mahlon, a sort of marriage gift.

Mahlon, I smiled when I thought about him. He hadn't had to give me anything and yet he had. He was a good man and a kind husband. Handsome, too. Very different eyes than most of the local men, he was an Israelite who's family had come to Moab a while back because of the famine. And now he was dead. Tears pricked my eyes. I fought them back and turned away from my turtledove.

I had never been much of a crier, not like my sister-in-law Orpah. I hadn't known her all that well before my marriage to her husband's brother-unless one counts occasional meetings at the local well to draw water-but I remember thinking that she was a very emotional person even from the first. It wasn't that I was bland and emotionless. Indeed, I was anything but. My emotions were deep enough, I think, there was plenty that could have brought me to tears. Only, I didn't cry at the drop of a nose ring. In Orpah, that quality and ability wouldn't have surprised me. Poor Orpah. Her husband was gone now, too.

How selfish I am being, I thought, shaking my head and gritting my teeth in frustration with myself, I should go and comfort Orpah.

After all, with both my Mahlon and her darling Chilion gone we ought to have plenty to commiserate over. Yes, I would go to her.

She looked too pretty to be a widow, with her copper-coloured headdress and large brown eyes so dark that they looked almost black. Cow eyes, someone unkind had once said about her in my presence. I thought differently. They weren't cow eyes at all. Far more expressive and easily upset than a cow's blank looks. Nicer to look at, as well. More like rippling muddy water-holes if something natural were needed to describe them. A little silver nose-ring twinkled and gleamed in one nostril; she had a little diamond stud in the other. So many women had thrown their arms around her and let her weep into their laps today. A few had embraced me and kissed my cheeks but I started to avoid them after a while. I wanted to be alone.

Strange, I thought, I never realized how little we really have in common other than being married into the same family. Maybe we don't have anything in common.

We'd hardly ever even really talked. I'd said "Pardon me," twice when she was in my way as I was trying to prepare the evening meal, and she'd asked a question about which colour I preferred when she was making a blanket. She did try so hard to be nice in spite of her impulsiveness which made me feel I had to tip-toe around her like an infant. I did love her, she was a sister to me, but I didn't really know her. Even then, I didn't know her. It occurred to me that while I knew her favorite dish and favorite flower (I'd seen Chiliton bring her some once) and that she detested frogs of all sorts, I knew precious little else.

For a moment I envisioned going over to her like I had planned and getting nothing but sobs and feeling even sadder. We'd all cry together, me, her, the other women, my mother, her mother...and would we feel any better afterwards? Probably not. It wasn't going to bring Mahlon back. My family had always been poor comforters, it wasn't their fault, it was just a fact. Besides, I doubted if even the best comforters in the world could have made me feel better.

Supposing I didn't go over to Orpah, supposing I joined a different group of mourners and found someone understanding and knowledgeable to speak with. Someone wiser. It took a moment but I soon found her. Naomi. My mother-in-law.

She sat alone in a corner by the front opening of our family's little mud-brick and tent-cloth house, looking out at the dusty road that, if followed long enough, led out of Moab. Her dress was an old patched grey thing. It looked comfortable even if she did not. On her head she wore a soft, faded green hood covering her long white-as-snow hair.

Creeping up like a mouse, I approached her. "Mother Naomi?"

She turned and looked right at me without blinking. "Ruth,"

I felt sorrier for her than for Orpah. Orpah was a widow, yes, but she'd lost nothing else. Naomi was more alone than anyone I'd ever met. Her husband, Elimelech, had been dead for a while now, and I knew she still missed him and thought of him often. To lose both of her sons on top of that must have been unspeakably hard for her.

"May I sit with you, Mother?"

"My child, sit down," A warm smile graced her lips, pleased with me, but it did not reach her hazel eyes.

I sat beside her, tucking my feet under my bottom. "I miss him," I said after a pause.

"Why do you not go and weep with your sister-in-law?" She wanted to know, placing a withered-looking hand over mine as if to reassure me she wasn't trying to send me away.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I would rather sit with you."

"Very well, then."

"Mother Naomi?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Jehovah will remember us?" Jehovah was the name of the Israelite god, Mahlon had told me so much about him, and I loved what I had learned.

She didn't answer but her grip on my hand tightened and I knew she had faith, even while she was scared and lonely. And I knew we still had each other, too. From the moment I knew Mahlon and I were to be wed, I had considered his mother one of my dearest friends.

An hour or so later, I left her side, kissed her cheek, and went back to my turtledove. I had made a decision. I would let it go. It was better that the little bird should be free than for it to be sold, tarnishing and tainting the memory I had of my husband-or worse, sacrificed to gods I had never believed in in spite of the fact I had known of them all my life. They didn't feel real to me, they never had. I would have liked to give my turtledove to Jehovah but I didn't know of any alters for him nearby expect for Elimelech's. Part of that one had fallen down and I didn't wish to distress Naomi further with that news. So, lifting the latch and sighing to myself, I let my turtledove fly away.

I had taken the cage outside so as not to disturb anyone with my silly little ceremony. Glancing to the sun beating down on me as my turtledove flew to it, I felt my eyes burning. There were tears again and the sun was scorching them. Still, I was happier than I had been a little while ago.

Two days later Naomi called me, Orpah, and our mothers to her side and spoke to us in hushed tones. She explained that she meant to go back to her homeland. Evidently the famine was over and life could begin anew there. I was heartbroken, there wasn't anyone to really take care of her there, and I didn't want her to go.

For nearly twelve hours Orpah sulked. I think this was how she used to make Chilidon do whatever she wanted, by giving him the silent treatment until he broke. Either his mother was stronger-willed, or Oprah's deeply etched scowls between her otherwise pretty, youthful brows and shinny tears didn't have the same effect on her. Whatever it was, she was still determined to leave us. I didn't sulk, not too much, I shouldn't think, but I did cry a little when no one was looking. Biting my lip until my mouth ached and tasted like metal, I trapped the remaining tears between my closed eyelids. It was okay, I had come to another decision.

I rose at dawn the next day and washed my face in the local well. Then I donned fresh mantels, working, traveling ones with tired-looking fringes and slightly fraying seams under one armpit. I slipped a rag around my dark hair and a winter-green sash across the pale blue, flour-stained tunic I wore over my traveling mantels.

Humming softly to myself, I tied some provisions; rice and grains, and unfermented cakes, and bitter greens, into a faded satchel, slipping four sticky brown rice-cakes left over from the day before into an old dull cloth. I figured it would come in handy on the road should anyone get hungry along the way. It wasn't much, but it was filling enough to hold a person over.

A strange thought struck me as I prepared myself for the trip I meant to take: this was the first time since my husband's death that I had hummed. I'd used to hum all the time, I'd liked to sing, too, before. I hadn't thought I'd ever want to again but I was. Maybe life _could_ be started anew. Naomi, sad, bitter Naomi might be right. At least we'd be with her people again. It had taken a while, but I had finally come to see the matter through her eyes. Moab wasn't her place, it never had been. She deserved to go home. I was cruel to wish she wouldn't leave. I realized that then.

"What are you doing?" Orpah was standing behind me. I had never realized that she was nearly two inches taller than me. A mite thicker, too, actually. Somehow, in spite of her tight expression and height, she managed to look fragile, not imposing.

"Packing," I said shortly. "I am going with Naomi back to her people."

She pursed her lips and considered this. "I'm going, too."

I didn't protest, I was pleased with her resolution. "You had better help me pack then."

She did so, and soon we were walking along with Naomi down that old dusty road. Yet, much to my confusion, she didn't seem at all glad that we were coming along. Didn't she love us? I loved her. I didn't know if Orpah did or not, that wasn't for me to say, but I knew I did. She was my friend, maybe even my best friend. Then, I wasn't being selfish. Not at that moment I wasn't. She was considered, being elderly and everything, someone had to look after her. It wasn't a burden, I wanted to do it. I wanted to help her like I knew she would have readily helped me if the situation was reversed. She was a widow and so was I, we were the same. We were akin.

"Why do you keep walking with me?" Naomi asked us, finally. Her voice was tender but there was no joy in it.

Orpah tossed her long braid over her shoulder and said, "We are coming with you."

Tears sprang up into Naomi's aged eyes. "No, my daughters, go home, to the house of your mothers, go on. And may Jehovah show loving-kindness toward you both, just as you have shown it towards me."

She loved us, she was blessing us. But she was also sending us away.

"No!" Orpah cried so passionately that I thought there wasn't going to be any emotion left in the world when she was done shouting out at the top of her voice. "With you we shall go!"

"May Jehovah give to each of you a resting place, each with a husband."

That was it? She really thought we would be better off staying behind in Moab? Maybe we would be, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted. Not for myself and not for her. She had no sons left, wasn't I good enough to be her daughter? Or at least her friend?

We kept on pleading, and we both cried, even me, but our dear mother-in-law was adamant. She would not let us come. Continually she would urge us to go back. We had to go home, she said.

"No, Mother Naomi," I dared to grab her arm gently to be sure I had her attention. "but with you to _your_ people we shall return."

"We shall be merry," Orpah promised brightly, forcing away her tears and smiling broadly. "You'll see. The three of us-"

"Go back, my daughters, back home to your land and your gods, not with me."

"Don't you love us?" I knew the answer but the question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Of course I do," Naomi said. "But why should you go with me? I am too old to become a husbands, and even if I did-even if a man should have me this very night and I could have sons-would you both wait for them to grow from babes to men in order to marry you? No, it is the bitter truth, my dears, you mustn't come with me."

We wept some more. Especially Orpah, she wailed inconsolably and looked more like a sullen child losing at her own favorite game than a woman honestly concerned about her mother-in-law. I thought nothing would make her stop. However, when Naomi kissed her goodbye, she left!

In disbelief I watched as she turned and walked away, her sandals padding on the ground, her shoulders still shaking with sobs, and still going. Going away. Giving up. Poor Orpah. I hoped she found all she was looking for in Moab.

As for me, I stood still for a moment, thinking though my mind was already made up, my resolve chosen. Then I ran after Naomi.

"Are you still following me, dear?" She asked when she noticed me trotting along at her side.

"Yes," I replied.

"Look, Orpah has gone back." I couldn't help looking over my shoulder again, wondering if I could still see her. I couldn't. She was a speedy young woman, wasn't she? "You, too, go back to your land and your gods and your mother. Go, please."

I couldn't bear this anymore. I threw myself in front of her and got down on my knees. The words poured out of me, "Do not plead with me to abandon you, to turn back from accompanying you; for where you go I shall go, and where you spend the night I shall spend the night. Your people will be my people, and your god my god. Where you die I shall die, and that is where I will be buried. May Jehovah do so to me and add to it if anything but death should make a separation between me and you."

Tears were streaming down my face, I knew how horrible I must have looked. I only half-cared. More than anything I wanted her to understand how much her friendship meant to me. I was blubbering, I became aware, almost as bad as Orpah.

I watched as she stood up and started walking.

Was she leaving me?

Beautiful old eyes smiled at me over a small, slumped shoulder. "I go on, I take it you are coming?"

A cry of joy flew out of my throat and I laughed through my tears as I stood up and positioned myself at her side, putting my arms around her shoulders and giving her a light embrace.

After that, she never again spoke of my going back.


	2. Chapter 2

We arrived in Bethlehem at the time of the barely harvest. I knew we looked like little more than beggars. Our provisions were gone down to almost nothing and some of the grains that remained had become stale. My hair was dusty, my throat dry. Naomi looked somber, even a little bitter.

There were women, obviously ones who knew her before but had not seen her in years, who kept on saying, "Naomi? Is that you? Can that be our Naomi?"

I watched her eyes flicker sadly as she replied, "Call me, not Naomi, but Mara. God has humiliated me, humbling me to nothing at all. Why should anyone call me Naomi, when I have lost all?"

At her side, I stood silently, saying nothing whatsoever. She had a right to say what she was to be called, I was only a foreigner she had brought back with her. Still, I was glad I had come.

"And who is this?" One of the women asked. She carried a basket of grapes. Good ones, fresh from the vine, I thought, they must be. I felt my mouth water in vain.

"This is my daughter-in-law, Ruth." Naomi introduced me.

I blushed, knowing they were staring at me even more intently now. Orpah wouldn't have blushed, I don't think. I wondered if their attention would have made her cry. Probably, I decided, though I wouldn't hold that against her. The inclination to become borderline-hysterical from nervousness is powerful when you're tired out from a long trip, not to mention hungry and thirsty.

"Moabite?" The woman with the grapes asked.

Naomi nodded. "Moabite. But she worships Jehovah same as we do, now."

Someone planted a kiss on my forehead, welcoming me. I hadn't expected this. Part of me had expected to be treated almost like a leper by everyone other than Naomi. I saw how foolish that reasoning was now. They were good people, most of them, that was why she loved them so. I wondered if Mahlon would have laughed at my surprise. Secretly, I was pretty sure he would have. He had his stern moments, but he'd always loved to laugh. At least, he'd laughed more than Chilion did. Chilion was a dear and had meant the world to Orpah, I knew that, but I couldn't picture the two of them laughing together like I had with Mahlon. They were too serious.

Mahlon, I hadn't meant to think of him again. A tear escaped and another woman-not the one who'd kissed me-squeezed my shoulders gently. That was kind of her.

The one with the grapes reached for my hand, opened my fingers, and placed three of the sweet purple fruits in my palm before closing it again. How did she know how badly I had wanted to taste them? I wasn't sure. I wished for more than only three-such small morsels. But I was still grateful. I had to be, I had little right to expect this, much less more than this.

The place we stayed was not unlike my mother's house back in Moab; mud brick and tent cloth. It was a little more run-down, certainly, but I gathered it had also been of higher quality originally. It reminded me how poor we were, Naomi and me. She was too old to work, she'd never make it through a struggling day of hard labor without collapsing in the field. I, however, knew I could manage. My skin was already browning from the trip over and I knew some more sun-freckles weren't going to kill me. Besides, callused hands held bread at the end of the day, didn't they? And poor foreigners didn't have any right to be vain.

I considered all of this carefully, remembering that it was the barley harvest. By all rights that I had, few though they were, I could go out and glean in the morning.

The Israelites had a custom, ordered by god, of not reaping the outer edges of their fields and vines and trees in order for the poor, the widowed, and the alien resident to gather them up and to eat. I was all three of those things and Naomi was two. I could glean. People could stop me, I wasn't strong enough to fight for any claims, but they couldn't do so fairly. There had to be an honest man's field I could get food from. It might even keep us alive during the harsher times of the year. I could work hard. No, I _would_ work hard. I'd be as good as a son, I thought. At least, I would try to be.

"Mother Naomi," I said the next morning, watching her old teeth sink into a small rind of cheese I could tell was too hard for her to chew properly. "I wish to go out into the field of whomever will show me favor and to glean wheat and barley for us."

"Go in peace, my daughter." Was her answer, agreeing with my request.

"I shan't be back until the evening,"

"Very well,"

"You will be all right until then?"

She assured me she would be. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked outside. Here went nothing-really, everything.

There was a particularly good-looking field only twenty minutes walk or so from the house we stayed in. I assumed the more prosperous the owner was, the less fuss they'd make over a new gleaner. Mostly, I hoped I wouldn't be much noticed. Paradoxly, I also wanted generosity. How could someone be generous if they couldn't see me? I wasn't really sure. Yet, I didn't have much time to mull over my likes, dislikes, and wants before plunging myself into the work.

Gathering up wheat and moving about quietly so as not to bother the workers was tiring. My hands and feet grew sore, my brow grew rather damp with sweat, and I continued to press on. I was Ruth, after all, wasn't I? I was the same woman who had gathered up enough pluck to convince Naomi to let me come back with her, wasn't I? This ought to be easy in comparison. The thought made me giggle.

A young worker-maybe my age, maybe younger-looked over at me. His expression wasn't unkind, but it did seem a little distracted and-I fancied-annoyed. I blushed and looked away, regretting my carelessness.

Someone else had heard my laugh, as well. An older gentleman. I saw him now, whispering to his manservant. I learned that this was the owner of the field. At first, I was stricken with fright. I worried that he would make me stop gleaning, although I worked just as hard as anyone else out that day.

He didn't look like the sort of man who would kick a woman out of his field during the gleaning just because she wasn't an Israelite. He looked nice, actually, I remember thinking. Kind, pensive, wise.

Out of the corner of my eye, still working diligently at my task, I took him in. His curly hair on his head was white, his beard was white, and his face was olive with a pinkish hue. My guess was that he had been handsome once, maybe even as handsome as my Mahlon had been, but growing older had taken some toll on him. I still thought he looked good, though.

One of the first things I noticed, listening more carefully than I probably should have, was that he always greeted his servants in the same manner.

"Jehovah be with you,"

They would smile and reply, "Jehovah bless you."

Such a heart-felt greeting. He loved Jehovah, too. How nice. I wished I could think of something other than merely 'nice' to describe him at the time, but now I suppose that suited him best anyhow. He was 'merely nice'. It is not a bad trait. I would rather speak with someone mild than with a madman any day.

He must have not had the best hearing, for his whisper was a bit loud. "Whom does the young lady belong to?"

I knew he was talking about me.

Whatever the reply from the servant was, I didn't hear it, his whisper was almost inaudible. I wondered if the man had heard him, either.

He had, he was nodding now.

"I shall get back to work, Boaz." The manservant told him.

"Very good," He sent him off with a blessing, I gathered.

"You heard, didn't you?" The older man-Boaz-was addressing me directly now.

I jumped and almost dropped the grains in my hands.

"Yes, my lord," I think I finally managed to murmur.

Was he very angry that I was eavesdropping? He didn't look it, and I didn't think that of him. But I _was_ wary.

"Don't go off into other fields, stay here with the women of my household, they will watch over you. And-" He reddened and attempted to lower his voice. "-I have ordered the young men not to bother you."

I choked on my tears. He didn't have to do that. That was so thoughtful of him. Certainly, I hadn't expected this.

"Why are you so kind?" I blurted out.

His clean-wool-coloured brow crinkled. Was that such a horrible thing to say? I had meant no disrespect.

"Why are _you_?"

"What do you mean?" I forgot to add, "My lord".

He explained, "I have just heard how good you were to your mother-in-law, Naomi. Coming all this way, so far from your homeland. It must have been hard for you."

"Anyone would have done it," I couldn't help myself. I think my tongue was loose at the hinges. Why could I not keep silent and nod?

"I doubt that."

"They would have." Again!

"Chilion had a wife, too, did he not?"

He had me there. I didn't blame Orpah, though. Truly, I didn't think he was, either. All the same, he had made his point.

"Very good, my lord."

"Keep up the good work." I noticed him turning away now.

"Jehovah be with you, my lord." I mumbled, still over-come with gratitude.

His smile widened and he regarded me over his shoulder. "Jehovah bless you."

I got back to work.

Later, the servants had a rest and a meal at Boaz's table. I stood off, resting in a shady place, I did not expect to be invited. Someone handed me bread, good bread, hot and fluffy with a cracker-like crust. I did not see who it was, my eyes were on Boaz, who was calling me over.

Rising from my place and lowering my eyes respectfully, I went to him.

"Recline with us, and dip your bread piece in vinegar." He held out a bowl made of reddish-clay to me.

The vinegar was potent, I could smell it wafting up to my nostrils, making me want to sneeze. Nevertheless, I obeyed and found the vinegar complemented the bread perfectly. I thanked him shyly, still thinking of retreating to my corner when the opportunity arose.

When the meal was over, I went back to work and gleaned until the sun went down. Wiping my brow and adjusting my headdress, I started to walk back towards home. Naomi would want to know where I had been gleaning all day. I hoped she would be glad, that Boaz would have a good reputation with her. He seemed to be a good man. I liked him.

A few of the women waved to me. "Goodbye, Ruth, see you tomorrow!"

I liked them, too.

The stars were out by the time I reached home and Naomi. I'm not sure why the walk back took longer than the walk there. Perhaps it was only my perception.

"Ruth, my daughter," Naomi greeted me warmly as I lifted up my basket of grains to show her. "Put my mind at ease. Tell me, where did you glean today?"

I told her. "I gleaned in the field of the man, Boaz, do you know him?"

Her eyes sparkled even brighter than the twinkling stars I had just seen outside and her wrinkled mouth grinned happily. "Oh, Jehovah be praised! The man is related to us, Ruth. He is one of our repurchasers."

I hadn't even supposed that could be the case. Oddly enough, it did explain why he was so concerned about Naomi and why my kindness towards her touched him so. I was glad of it. If he was related to Naomi, he was related to Mahlon as well and I didn't need to feel guilty thinking that he reminded me of my lost husband sometimes. Relatives often share traits. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"It is good that you should continue working in his fields." Naomi said, looking more peaceful than I'd seen her in a long time. "No one will annoy you there. You're rather welcome on his land more than not, I should think."

The last word, 'think' slurred. Not on her lips, she herself didn't slip in speech, but in my mind. I was so tired that without realizing it, I was falling asleep. I'd been falling asleep since the moment I sat down to tell her everything.

Oh, well. She wouldn't hold it against me. Tomorrow I could go out and work in Boaz's fields again. All was well. Life in Bethlehem was hard when you were poor, but it was by no means unsatisfactory. Not when everyone was so kind.


	3. Chapter 3

I had fallen into a steady routine of gleaning in Boaz's fields and felt I was finally tasting the fruits of my labor. Boaz's workers were generous-partly because he ordered them to be, and partly because they were good people for the most part-and left one of the widest gleaning areas for the poor in the area.

Most of the women who worked around the field, both those of Boaz's household and those who were poor like me or feeble like Naomi, became my close friends. The work was as hard as ever, sweat was no less, but we'd gotten into some habit of helping one another out. Sometimes we even walked together along the road at the end of the day.

I was glad of it, for such gestures made me feel less lonesome. I still thought of Mahlon often enough, but the pain of losing him had dulled somewhat, and I was able to go through sometimes a whole day without missing him. At first this made me feel sort of guilty but, after a while, I realized I wouldn't want him to pine after me all of his life if I was the dead one, and he the one alive. Truly, I didn't suppose he would want me to be sad, either. He was a happy man who had worshiped a happy god all his life. There was room for grief, but none for eternal sadness.

Every once in a while, I wondered what I would do when the gleaning was completed for the season. I supposed I would just spend my days looking after Naomi until the next harvest, whatever it was. Yet, I knew I would miss my time in the fields. I'd miss my friends. And, of course, I'd miss quietly observing Boaz as he passed by with his usual greeting, smiling at all his workers. He remained as kind as ever, and I knew I would miss his presence terribly. It might be all right for me to keep in touch with the women of his household, since we had become such fine companions, but surely it wouldn't be proper to seek out his company when the harvest was over. That made me very sad. Sad in a way I couldn't quite explain, even to myself.

Then one morning, as I was about to leave for the last day of the barley harvest, Naomi beckoned for me to come to her.

"You are not unwell, Mother Naomi?" I was concerned because she almost never stopped me on my way out.

"I am well, Jehovah has looked after me," She shut her eyes and smiled to herself before opening them again. "But now, ought I not to search out a resting place for you, my dearest daughter? After all you have done for me?"

"It was nothing, I only-"

She held up her palm and I gathered her speech was not over. "Do you remember what I said about Boaz being a repurchaser?"

"Yes," I answered, wondering if I understood her meaning.

"Do you know what repurchasing is, child?"

From anyone else, that might have been an insult. From Naomi, I knew she was genuinely unsure of how far my knowledge in those kinds of matters went. I did know enough, actually. Repurchasing was done in families. For example, if a man married a woman and then died without giving her any children, his brother was to take her and have children with her in place of her dead husband. If there was no brother-or if the brother refused to do so-then the next kinsman, probably an uncle, was to take her. If the uncle was unable, it went to his son. If he had no son, it simply went to the next blood relative and so on.

Once she was satisfied that I understood, she explained that I might approach Boaz and meekly remind him of the fact that he was a repurchaser.

I was terrified. "You can't mean I should just walk up to him and-"

She tried to look stern, since it was such a serious matter, but that amused holding-back-a-giggle smile wasn't about to leave her lips. "No, no, of course not like _that_."

A bit relieved, I asked how I ought to go about it. If I'd known from that first day that I would have to do this, I would have been too afraid to speak to him. I'm glad I didn't know. Scary as the prospects were.

Listening carefully to Naomi's explanation of what I ought to do, I nodded with pretend somberness to mask my anxiety. What if he didn't want me? He was older, he might want to have a quiet life by himself. He might not want to bother with some Moabite woman who was once married to a relative of his. Worse was knowing how kind he was and thinking how embarrassing it would be for him to stammer out why he didn't want...no, I wouldn't think of that now. Not yet. I knew what I had to do.

That evening, I left the barley harvest a bit early so that I might put on clean mantels and braid my hair under my headdress. I also rubbed a bit of oil on myself. I had been apprehensive about this, seeing as we hadn't much of it to spare, but Naomi had been insistent. Assuming she knew better than me what was appropriate to use on such-and-such occasion than I did, I complied.

Going back towards Boaz's land in the dark made me nervous. I half-expected someone to jump out at me and demand to know what I was doing. When no one did, I fought the urge to laugh at myself and pressed on. I was going to the threshing floor, where Boaz would be.

He didn't see me approach, just as I fully intended he shouldn't. Naomi had told me not to make my presence known until he had finished eating and drinking. I could see the clay bowl in his lap and the glass in his hand, he wasn't done enjoying himself yet.

I could not get over how contented he looked. He deserved it, I thought, and was happy for him. Noticing that his eyes were half-closed and that his bearded chin was relaxed in a rather meditative fashion, I found myself wondering what he was thinking.

Perhaps he was thinking of nothing at all, for his eyes were closed all the way so suddenly and, by his lowering head, I could tell he was nodding off. Fighting another giggle, feeling very immature, I wondered if he snored. Mahlon didn't but I remember Orpah complaining about having a headache from Chilion's doing so.

Creeping like a small field mouse, I went to him and uncovered his feet, resting my head down a little ways off from them. Waiting was my lot, I had to wait at his feet until he woke up.

He snored softly. Oh, so he _did_ snore! Unfortunately that also meant he was probably deeply asleep and wouldn't awaken for a little while. Knowing I mustn't fall asleep myself, I pinched my arm whenever I felt my eyelids closing. Sighing, I felt seconds go by like hours. This might be a very long night.

At midnight, he shivered, and I felt a little guilty about uncovering his feet like that. But I'd only done what I needed to.

As he sat up to cover his feet again, I knew he saw that there was someone lying down there. I wondered if he was curious or annoyed.

"Who are you?"

Curious, I decided from his friendly tone. "Ruth."

"Ruth?" He rubbed his eyes in sleepy confusion.

"Wife of the late Mahlon." I clarified.

"I know who Ruth is." I sensed a smile though I couldn't see it clearly.

"You will not forsake me, will you? You are a repurchaser."

"Oh, Ruth," His face softened. "You have expressed loving-kindness in doing this, not seeking out someone younger, but your own husband's kinsman. I should be glad to take you for my wife...but..."

 _But?_ I felt my expression fall, doing nothing to hide my disappointment.

"There is a kinsman closer related than I am." He looked apologetic.

He didn't need to look at me like that, it wasn't his fault, he needn't be ashamed of what he had no control over.

"I see," I murmured.

His hand wrapped around one of mine and squeezed it lightly. "Tell you what,"

Wide eyed, I waited to hear what he had to say.

"I will go and speak to the man closer related to Mahlon than I am, and if he should repurchase you, Jehovah bless him, I have no objections. But if he should not, I'll marry you."

"You will do the repurchasing if he will not?"

"I should be honoured." He assured me.

"Am I to go now?" I asked.

Thoughtfully, he stroked his beard. "No, not yet. Stay until the morning-it's not far off. Then I will give you some grains to bring back to your mother-in-law, I do feel horrible about sending you back empty-handed, Ruth."

He shouldn't feel bad, he was too tender-hearted.

Out loud, I said, "Thank you for your generosity, my lord."

In the morning he gave me five jars of barley for which I had not gleaned. I think he would have given me ten if he thought I could have managed to carry it all the way back to my mother-in-law. Thanking him, I started for home.

It was a chill morning and my cheeks felt dewy. Sighing to myself, I couldn't help but feel a little sad. What if that other man wanted to repurchase me? I didn't know anything about him. What if I didn't like him? What if he was Boaz's opposite in every way? He could be sour and unpleasant for all I knew.

If he is horrid, I tried to reassure myself, then he's not very likely to repurchase you, is he?

I thought not. I hoped not.

Even if he wasn't so bad, part of me still didn't want him. My dearest wish at the time was that he would say 'thanks, but no thanks' and leave it at that. Boaz would be a kind husband. He would be thoughtful of my feelings and needs, and he would help look after Naomi, too. And, I thought I might love him, maybe just a little bit. I would rather have a husband I could love easily than one I had to force myself to like.

I had no more than stepped through the doorway when I heard my mother-in-law's voice say, "Who are you, my daughter?"

Unsure as to whether she was inquiring about the repurchasing or if she simply couldn't see who I was because of the weak morning light and her old eyes, I took a moment before answering.

When I was sure she recognized me, I handed her the jars of barley and told her all that had happened. I struggled not to tear-up when I spoke of the closer relative that might repurchase me instead of dear, kind Boaz, and I spoke of fact, not emotion. But I think she knew what I was feeling anyway.

The whole time I had been speaking, I had been standing up, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. I wasn't sure how I was going to get through the day like this. How could I be calm until I knew who's wife I was going to be?

Reading my thoughts, Naomi waved her hand at a seat across from her. "Child, do sit down and try to rest."

"Oh, when do you think-" I started.

"Shh...fret not, dear, fret not."

"But how can I be still and demure when...when I don't even know..." I put my hand to my forehead, I could feel a headache brought on by my upset and unease.

"Be still and patient," She put her hand on my arm as I sat down. "Trust me, I know Boaz, the man will have no peace unless he has taken care of the matter today."

That sounded like the Boaz I knew and loved, I hoped all went well. The question was, in this instance, what did 'going well' entail?


	4. Chapter 4

So many times I had nearly given up in despair, wondering what my future would hold, when I finally saw him coming.

He looked, I thought in my weary, over-worried state, younger, although his hair and beard were still snowy white, as colourless as a lamb's fleece.

It was the expression on his face that made him look younger, actually. He was positively beaming, a delighted smile curled on his lips. Obviously, something good had happened. Needless to say, I was nearly mad with curiosity as to how it had all turned out.

Then I saw it.

In his hand, he held a sandal. He was to be my husband. Technically, he already was, even though I wasn't yet aware of it.

The custom for a man who is turning down the repurchasing rights is to draw off his sandal and give it to the man next in line, saying it is good for _him_ instead to go about doing the repurchasing. And Boaz had a sandal in his hand.

"Good day, Naomi," He addressed her. To me, "Good day, wife, Jehovah be with you."

"Oh, may Jehovah bless you, Boaz." Naomi's eyes were twinkling. "You mean to say you have repurchased her?"

"Yes, I announced it this very afternoon," Though he spoke to Naomi, he kept looking over at me. To get my reaction, I guess. "I made all the necessary arrangements in front of all present witness, right after the So-and-So closer related to Mahlon than I turned down the privilege."

My heart skipped a beat. I was a married woman again, and it wasn't to someone unknown, but to someone I cared about. No woman had ever been more blessed than I had in this instance.

"If you don't mind my asking," Naomi pressed. "what did So-and-So say?"

"Ah, he said he was glad enough to repurchase any land or material properties of the deceased, but when I informed him that there was a wife to repurchase, he soon lost interest in doing so."

My ego was a little bruised. Glad as I was, no woman likes to feel unwanted. No matter, Boaz wanted me, that was good enough.

"Ruth, dear wife," This time I took in the full sense of his pleasure at saying the word 'wife' as he reached for my hand. "I do hope I have found favor in your eyes."

"Oh, it is a certainty, my lord." I said.

"I," His tone grew softer still, less merry, more tender. "I do love you, Ruth, I would have told you long ago, but I suspected there would be some matters to clear up."

I was stunned. He had known. All along, it seemed, he had known I would come to him and ask him to repurchase me. Or, at least, he had known it longer than I had. It seemed a little unfair.

"I see that look," His tone was merry again. "Understand that I did not know for a certainty you would come to me, but know also that I'd hoped for it, that you would choose me over the younger men."

"But you knew also of the chance that someone else would want me."

"True, but I was never firmly convinced that he would take you. The only reason his finding delight in you would have made me happy was that he was younger than I am, and I thought you might have been happier."

Naomi poked me playfully in the side. "You did not see the joy on her face when you came holding that sandal."

I blushed. "Mother Naomi!"

"Don't waste your embarrassment on your own husband, my daughter, save it for a rainy day."

Boaz and I laughed at the same time. How delightful that we had similar tastes in humour. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone to keep me company and to laugh with again? Wouldn't it be nice to do the same thing for him? Who was to say he wasn't lonely, being unmarried at his age? Maybe all along we'd needed each other, and until it all fell into place, I hadn't seen it so clearly.

"I love you, my lord." Such a mixture of joy and relief to say those words aloud.

"Boaz," He corrected me. "If I am your husband, than you ought to call me by my name."

"Boaz, my-" I stopped, catching myself.

"You were about to add, 'my lord'!" He was teasing me now.

"Don't mock me."

"I would never mock you, darling Ruth,"

I believed him, he had such an honest way of expressing himself.

"Come, do let us go home now." He said. "You will not have to glean anymore, for it is all as much yours as mine now."

No longer was I a widow. I was the wife of the master of the house, the mistress of the fields I had worked so hard in during the harvest.

Time passed and happiness grew. Boaz was as good as I'd ever imagined him to be and he remained kind as ever. We both had our faults just like anyone else might, but we loved each other all the same.

From that love, there came a blessing, a son. A baby boy, my own child. I had heard that being a mother was a wonderful experience, but it wasn't until then that I learned it for myself. It wasn't until I held the beautiful little baby in my arms that I discovered the true wonder that was motherhood. So many things stopped mattering when one held one's own child. Pains and aches dulled, tears of labor turned to mirth, weary scowls became smiles.

Boaz and I named the child Obed and he was beloved among those of our household, relatives, and friends.

As I gently placed the baby into my mother-in-law's trembling hands so that she could hold him and see the child born in place of the grandsons she never had, I knew what she was thinking. _Praise Jehovah._

Watching us, the midwives and other women began to say to her, "Blessed you are, Naomi, no longer are you Mara."

I assumed they were referring to my beautiful son and I beamed with pride. I turned a vivid shade of scarlet when I realized what they truly meant.

"For you have a daughter-in-law who does indeed love you, a daughter-in-law better than seven sons."

Better than seven sons, not a bad sentiment, I thought, people have died over lower honours than that before. _Praise Jehovah._

Naomi handed the child back to me and I kissed his forehead. He was glorious. My son was a marvel.

That night, as I rested, worn-out from the excitement of the day, I could hear Boaz singing to our son. Being the thoughtful person he was, he had offered to look after the baby for a few hours. I thought this particularly gracious of him, seeing as he could have left little Obed in the care of one of the nursemaids or maidservants.

I listened to the song, straining, though I knew I shouldn't have been, to catch the words. It was the old victory song the Israelites sang so long ago when their god destroyed pharaoh at the Red Sea and saved them. It was a beautiful song.

_"Sing to Jehovah for he has become highly exalted._

_The horse and its rider he has pitched into the sea._

_My strength and my might is Jah, since he serves for my salvation._

_This is my God, I shall laud him on high."_

Splendid, I sighed happily, letting my head sink down into its resting place. The song was made all the more lovely for its realness. Jehovah had not failed to save his people then, and he had not failed to save even me, a poor widow from Moab.

Obed would one day grow up to become grandfather to King David, and later, through his line-and mine-would come Jesus Christ, God's only begotten son who would save the world and set up a kingdom even to time indefinite.

But that's another story.


End file.
